


Quote Unquote

by boltplum



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Marijuana, One Shot, Parental Jim "Chief" Hopper, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27023071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltplum/pseuds/boltplum
Summary: “Whoa,” says Harrington from right against his ear. He flinches, turning back to see the guy leaning inside the window. Billy draws his arm back. “Who knew?”Billy frowns. “Who knew what?”Harrington smirks. “That you’d look so good in glasses.” He flicks the bottom of the frames, nail skimming Billy’s cheek and making his world blur in the process before it goes clear again. “They suit you.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 24
Kudos: 206





	Quote Unquote

You’re stupid, his father says and breaks his nose. Makes his left eye go all red and bloody. Knocks two teeth out, and it’s not the worse he’s had but it’s up there. You’re a faggot pussy no good nobody, his father says and keeps breaking.

His vision is blurry for an hour, for two, for two days, and after a trip to the hospital, he’s made to talk with the chief of police. That big son of a bitch, Hopper. Susan cries and Max hovers. He tells her he hates her. Because he does. He doesn’t too, he kind of loves her in a this-will-only-hurt-down-the-road kind of way.

Maxine blabs her big fucking mouth. Harrington is the one they call.

He doesn’t ever actually see the guy. Tries to avoid him like the plague these days, ever since their whole blow out pissing match last year. They’re both out of high school and trying to find their footing in the world, after all. What’s Billy need with a guy with a huge stick up his ass like Harrington?

He hates Hopper. Hates Hopper for telling Neil what’s what going forward. Hates him for putting his dad in his place. Hates him for making Susan not take Max out of the room when Neil is cuffed and not getting her brat to shut her fucking mouth from telling her pissant little friends what’s happened.

Her brother--stepbrother, he reminds her irritably--beat bloody and near dead--not hardly, he tells her--and then it’s Lucas and Dustin and the tall, giraffe-looking geek, and the stringy, rung-out looking one with the bowl cut and it’s Harrington’s big brown eyes breaking him down when he’s not even in the same room, let alone the same neighborhood.

Hopper gets his girl, the one with the eyes that see too much, and tells Billy he’ll not have to worry anymore. Billy tells him, You don’t know shit about my dad. He’ll get out, find me, remind me he owns me. You don’t know shit about batshit dads, he says and Hopper just fucking snorts like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard.

Your dad ever beat you with a belt ‘til you were so black and blue you could only lie down on your stomach for a week? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Billy chokes down his spit and sucks his pussy-ass up and takes the couch. Not because Hopper offered it to him. Not because his girl is in the other little bedroom with its clean and cute decorations. But because his girl says she saw Max laughing. She’s going to be okay, she says and Billy believes her, somehow.

He’s wondering how you are, she adds, and Billy pretends to not know who she means.

He goes to sleep, careful not to lie on his eyepatch.

\--

Harrington drops a box of his stuff off sometime before breakfast. Billy finds it on the porch of the cabin. The cassettes are ordered alphabetically, carefully tucked in beside his posters and cologne. His clothes are folded underneath.

The only thing out of place is the cuff of his brown leather jacket. It hangs over the side like it was tugged out, flipped back over.

Billy squints out at the trees and wonders how long ago Harrington touched his things. How long between then and now before they no longer shared the same air.

\--

A week later he gets more of the goopy orange and smelly eye drops that burn like a bitch. Then he gets another eyepatch. His face isn’t as bruised. His nose smarts. He feels like a kumquat, but he’s healing. Not the worst, he reminds himself. Not by far.

The girl, Jane, wakes him up from a nightmare he can’t remember. It’s late afternoon. She reminds him it’s his turn to cook, but it’s okay since he’s so tired.

He smacks her hand away and gets up to go stir fry whatever veggies the cop has in his fridge. He’s not the best at keeping things in stock that don’t go bad. Billy’s been nagging about that. He finds fresh greens. Hopper’s getting better too.

He hates that fucking pig.

When Hopper gets back that night, late, always late, he’s brought a cake. Jane’s in bed, so Hopper and Billy split it using plastic forks. They watch Carson until Billy passes out.

\--

Four weeks and the eyepatch comes off. His head is still sore. Light hurts. Everything is blurry.

The doctor frowns when Billy blurts it out.

He gets a prescription for glasses later that day. Susan’s insurance covers the bill.

She cries for him when he calls. Only because Hopper said it might be good for them if he checked in now and again.

Really, the pig says, You still have half a family waiting to hear if you’ve kicked the bucket or not. Pull up your damn bootstraps and talk to them. They need it more than you, clearly.

Max gets on after. She swears at Billy. Tells him to go fuck himself on a fence post. He smiles at that. It’s the first time he’s laughed in ages, it feels like.

Can you drive, yet, she asks and he says, Sure I can, even though he shouldn’t.

Good, she tells him, and demands he take her to the arcade.

He reminds her she’s a fifteen minute skate away from downtown. Reminds he lives in what might as well be fucking Narnia now. She’ll be waiting an hour or more.

That’s fine, she says, and hangs up before he can snap at her anymore.

He sighs and turns around to find Jane with her big, searching eyes looking through him.

Take me with you, she says.

And so they go.

\--

Jane giggles like a madman when Billy nearly takes out the Family Video sign advertising new releases he can’t quite make out when he skips the curb turning into the parking lot.

Lucas and the other pipsqueaks are already outside, like they’ve been awaiting Maxine's grand arrival. More like she fucking blabbed again and they know Billy, the former King of the Lowlife’s and Cattle of Hawkins, was going to roll up wearing terrible, horn-rimmed glasses. The cheapest on offer.

Max climbs out of the back of the Camaro and drags Jane out with her. Not before Jane places a quick peck on the side of Billy’s head. Like they’re family or some shit. He turns away, so nobody can see the fucking blood rush to his face.

“Whoa,” says Harrington from right against his ear. He flinches, turning back to see the guy leaning inside the window. Billy draws his arm back. “Who knew?”

Billy frowns. “Who knew what?”

Harrington smirks. “That you’d look so good in glasses.” He flicks the bottom of the frames, nail skimming Billy’s cheek and making his world blur in the process before it goes clear again. “They suit you.”

“Burn in hell, dipshit.”

Harrington keeps smirking. “Ah, well.” He goes back to the kids and commands them inside.

Billy sits outside smoking for the three hours Maxine dicks around in the arcade.

\--

You’re acting weird, Hopper comments a few days later.

Billy’s just come back from the arcade. Another trip, another tank of gas. He’s going to burn through his savings in the next few weeks if he doesn’t get a job. How can he get a job if he’s fucking blind?

I’m fucking broke is what’s weird.

The pool’s hiring, Hopper suggests. Billy thinks that’s a fucking joke. So’s the library.

Fuck no, Billy snaps. No to all of those shitty places. I can’t see for shit, nobody’s gonna hire me.

Plenty of people work with glasses, you do realize?

Not me.

Hopper rolls his eyes. You know how to file papers?

It catches Billy off guard. He says, Who fucking doesn’t?

If you can keep your mouth clean for five minutes, you can help out Florence up front.

I’m not gonna be some fucking _pig_.

Hopper sips his coffee. Says, Find me when you’re so broke you can’t go anywhere.

Billy stews. He runs out of money three weeks later.

\--

Hopper shows him how to tie a tie. Then he makes him take it off because he looks, quote unquote, stuffy. Then he tells him to shave his stupid moustache off.

Billy refuses.

Hopper sighs.

The drive in is made in silence. Hopper hums along to bumfuck tunes Billy would rather tear his own eyeballs out of his head than listen to at length. The station is plenty curious why he’s there when he walks in behind their chief. But Hopper acts like he couldn’t care less, that there’s bigger fish to fry, and so Billy does too. Keeps his chin high, and refuses to acknowledge he looks like fucking Velma now.

He shadows Florence. She’s kind of a bitch. They get along.

\--

Harrington strolls in behind a man with a glossy middle-part and a thin moustache a month in to Billy’s new gig as the single male secretary in Hawkins PD.

They lock eyes for all of a tense moment, before Harrington ducks his head and keeps his glower aimed at the floor.

Flo, Harrington senior states in what Billy thinks is a demand as much as a greeting.

He’s busy, she sighs.

Harrington leans against the counter. The width of his shoulders pull at the teal sweater he wears and Billy can eat him up like this, with no one to see him watching. He staples a stack of reports together and realizes he wasn’t supposed to do that.

“Dad, this doesn’t--” Harrington starts to say.

Quiet, his father snaps and Billy watches with some kind of sinking dread as Harrington hangs his head again. His jaw leaps.

Hopper’s door cracks and it’s all the invitation the man needs. He strides in. Harrington stays where he is.

After Hopper’s door slams shut again, Harrington sags. He turns and crosses his arms on top of the counter. His eyes find Billy’s and he smiles a little sad, a lot tired.

“You look like hell,” Billy mutters.

“It’s been a hell kind of week.”

“What’re you in for?”

“Oh, this--” Harrington sags again, chin landing on his hands. “Nothing.”

“Harrington.”

“How’re you liking living with El and Hopper?”

“El? Oh, Jane? Yeah, it’s been fine. They eat like toddlers but I cook now, so that’s nothing to write home about anymore.”

“You, cooking?”

“Yeah? That so unbelievable?”

“Kind of, yeah. It is. You...you don’t seem much of a homey type.”

“Well, when you don’t have a mom to cook shit for you and do your laundry, you learn to do everything yourself.”

It comes out meaner than he means it to. But Harrington doesn’t seem to register his tone. He nods, chin squishing. “I get that.”

“Doubt that.”

“My dad kicked her out a few years back. They take turns living at the house, but most of the year they’re on opposite sides of the globe.”

It’s said so nonchalantly, Billy laughs at first. Thinks Harrington’s pulling his leg. Because what parents would do something like that?

“They hate each other that much?” he asks, because Harrington looks serious as ever.

“Yep. More than they can stand me, anyway.”

“So why’s he here, then?” Billy asks, wondering at the raised tones behind the closed door. “If he hates his kid?”

Harrington licks his lips, stands up. Cracks his back a bit. “He found my stash and he’s pissed. Hopper won’t do shit.”

“Oh really?” That was interesting. “He throw it all out?”

“No, he only found the first stash.” He smiles a little, like he’s sharing a secret. “I uh. He’s due on his flight by eight tonight. If you wanna, I don’t know, come over and smoke?”

Florence tuts behind Billy and he snorts. “Sure.”

“Cool.”

Harrington senior reappears, red faced and angry. Hopper sends Harrington a little two-fingered salute before going back inside his office.

\--

Billy barely misses Harrington’s mailbox as he pulls into the drive. He shuts off the engine and wonders when his vision will be clear enough to not make his heart race every time he’s on the road.

Harrington meets him at the door. His house is big, empty, cold and dark. There’s a pizza box open on the kitchen island. It’s marble and dusty.

Harrington grabs the box and takes the stairs two at a time. Billy follows suit. His room is plaid and awful and the only room in the house with any source of light or warmth that Billy can make out.

It’s messy in a lived-in way. It smells like Harrington always smells. Earthy, rich. Rich in the way that makes Billy’s mouth water, rich in the way he can afford the good cologne. Harrington sits cross-legged on the floor at the foot of his bed and pulls out a shoebox from underneath. Billy joins him, grabbing a piece of pizza on his way down.

“This was originally the first stash. The second one is in my closet, but I switched them. When he checks one, he doesn’t think to check there again, so I just kind of rotate them.”

He lights up and they share a joint. Billy feels light. He doesn’t mind his glasses so much.

Not until Harrington falls into him, against his shoulder. His mess of hair tickles Billy’s cheek. They’re high. It’s good weed. He lets his cheek rest on Harrington’s head. He’s warm.

Warmer than his room.

\--

He wakes up at eleven. He panics for as long as it takes his skin to shiver. He remembers he doesn’t have to worry about Neil anymore. Hopper doesn’t care what he gets up to as long as he doesn’t involve Jane, or get hurt. His one rule is to call and check in. He cares, and that’s sometimes scarier than Neil ever was.

Harrington’s head has somehow fallen into his lap. He's fast asleep and dreaming judging by the way his eyes switch fast beneath his lids. His fingers twitch and he grunts now and again and Billy wonders what the hell the rich pretty boy of Hawkins has to haunt him at night.

Billy dares to rest a palm on his hair. Threads his fingers through his tufts. Feels Harrington calm and feels powerful all at once.

Like this, right now, he’s invincible.

\--

Hopper found one of his skin mags once.

He was surprisingly cool about it.

But fuck, he was awkward.

\--

Harrington gets high. He gets sad. He gets thoughtful. He gets mad, exactly once. And that was only because Billy insinuated he was a retard. For a terrifying instant, he thought Harrington was about to cry. So he’d made amends in cigarettes and pot bought off Tommy, and in getting him the newest album of Queen’s the second it was in stores. He’d near frozen his balls off waiting for the record shop to open, but he’d fucking got the thing and that was that.

Then Harrington looked ready to cry when Billy handed him the goddamn thing. Like, “Make up your fucking mind, Christ.”

Harrington sniffled.

It was the first and only time Billy’s ever told him, “Sorry.”

It was the first and far from last that Harrington’s hugged him.

\--

Two months in and Hopper pulls up on a Saturday blasting the Stones and leading a truck that drops off a single wide in the clearing behind the cabin.

Billy asks, What’s all this for?

And Hopper tells him, grinning while still somehow managing to be awkward as hell, Figured you needed your own space while you saved up. Can’t have you living on my couch forever.

And Billy--Billy fucking cries, and he hates himself and he kind of loves Hopper a little bit.

He calls Maxine.

He calls Harrington. They talk on the phone for over an hour.

\--

Harrington likes to stay over. Says, “Your place is just cozier. You know?”

“No?”

“You can’t fake cozy,” he says, like he knows what he’s talking about even though Billy doesn’t.

If Billy had been told a year and a half ago he’d be spending almost every free moment he had with the kid he couldn’t fucking stand, he’d have punched the teeth out of whoever had told him. But now?

Now, he craves those moments. Every second he’s not with Harrington, the more he aches. The more it hurts in a dull, exhausting sort of way. The kind that feels black and dreary. Like a big fat cloud following him all day, every day.

Then the second he sees that big, dumb, goofy grin, he melts and he feels insane, and he feels like he’s in something, and he craves, he craves, he craves.

\--

Harrington comes over when Billy gets his very first television set. He’s going to hook it up and they’ll watch Miami Vice because it’s Friday night and Harrington’s brought them takeout.

What actually happens is the wires are confusing and Billy thinks it’s not like getting a car battery to start up at all like he’d thought it’d be, and he’ll be damned before he goes inside the cabin and asks Hopper to fucking help him figure it out, and all while Harrington is _here_ , with _him_ , in _his_ trailer, his _home_ fuck’s sake, and--

And Harrington chuckles around a mouthful of food, and tugs on Billy’s tense wrist until he sinks into the small couch beside him. Food is shoved his way and they eat and they talk and they laugh whatever lingering annoyance is stuck in Billy away. Like it never existed at all.

Harrington hums, moans a little. Rubs his stomach and says, “God, that really hits the spot.”

“Hits you a little more,” Billy comments.

“Ha ha.” Harrington sets his food down. He sinks back, draws a leg up. Stretches his other out. Effectively creates a cone that Billy is trying very hard not to fall down into the center of. He could turn and wonder at the position and spiral like he knows he’s always prone to do. “Hey, Billy?”

“What?”

Harrington nudges him with a socked foot. Billy sets his food down beside Harrington’s. Hands find their way to his wrists, his elbows, his face. Draw him in and close and warm until Harrington is an inch away and Billy can hear his own heart thump thumping heavy.

“Can I?” he asks, and reaches for Billy's glasses. He removes them, gently. So gently.

“Can you what?”

Harrington smiles soft and small and secret and whispers, husky, “Can I kiss you? Is that alright?”

Billy doesn’t breathe. Can’t.

He craves.


End file.
